The Clutches of Evil
by ElisetheChemist
Summary: KOTOR1: This is a DSM Revan/LS Bas story beginning when Bastila gets captured by Darth Malak, exposing the true horrors of being a prisoner of war. Bastila's fall to the dark side is explained in detail, and her relationship with Lord Revan follows.
1. Only the Beginning

**"Bastila looked into those horrid, cruel yellow eyes and felt fear stab in her soul; there was no life in those eyes, nothing. Lord Malak growled. 'Join me, Bastila...' he growled with a mechanical voice."**

Ahah, so I embark upon another story. This is... quite different from the romantic humor of the Gizka story. I warn you now, this is not for anyone but mature readers, as what is encluded in this story is all of the horrors if a prisoner of war, and more. The psychological horror is great, and the gore and sexual factors are upped as well. Anyways, have a great read.

- Schwartze

* * *

Day 1

Bastila woke up alone, cold and on a hard, uneven metal floor. Limbs splayed out at unnatural angles, Bastila groaned loudly, her voice cracking and skipping from her throat being scratchy and parched. Feeling as if her skull was cracking down the center, Bastila's thoughts were jumbled and for some reason she was unable to even process a single thought before the pain made cognitive function too difficult. It was hard to breathe on her stomach, but she couldn't roll over; she had absolutely no energy in the darkness. _Revan?_ Bastila's thoughts conjured a calm, safe sensation inside of her, but she couldn't bring up the memory of who that named belong to, only that one emotion. All she knew is that the word "Revan" brought about a feeling – a good feeling. Her legs felt as if they were going to rot and decay on the spot such was her pain, and each fingertip felt as if it was roasting against a lightsaber. _Stop… Please, make… Pain. Force. _

Finally mustering what strength and courage she had in a reserve deep within, Bastila rolled herself over, immediately crying out in pain from sheer reflex and regretting her action – if the single feeling she could hold on to could be considered regret. Blood slid down her cheeks from an aggravated wound, and she struggled to open her eyelids, finding that there was a sharp, stabbing pain behind each eye that reverberated back into herhead and neck. _Death. Please. Pain… Force… so much pain. Bring death. _

Inwardly she was sobbing, crying out of sheer agony, but her body was unable to match what her mind was imagining; tears couldn't fall from dry, bloodshot eyes. Shuddering from the cold, Bastila coughed, tasting something metallic in her mouth and knowing that taste all too well. The tremors that ripped through her body in an effort to warm it up also caused her intense muscle pain and cramping, rendering Bastila completely helpless to the blinding anguish that plagued her.

The pain soon became too much and her mind shut itself down, leaving Bastila unconscious on the floor in a cold, damp and lonely cell.

--

Darth Malak stood in an observation tower above his Jedi prisoner's window, and had he possessed a mouth, he would have been smirking in sadistic pleasure. Watching the attractive and absolutely helpless Jedi-girl made him feel powerful, and his eyes narrowed as she cried out, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine. Oh yes, he would have much fun toying with this one. It wasn't everyday that he had the honor of treating a lady prisoner of war, and he intended to make her time here… unique to say the least.

Of course it helped that she was so stunning. Malak's bright, yellow eyes roved over her face now that she had turned herself over. The girl had deep brunette hair that shone despite the single red light in the cell, and her skin was absolutely flawless on her face, despite the crusty head injury – so smooth and pale. He longed to grasp her feminine jaw in his hands, force her blue-grey eyes to meet his own and see the fear he induced in them. Yes, yes, that was what he wanted – fear.

The girl's Jedi robes were tattered and worn, and there were large gashes in the fabric where his lightsaber had severed the threads, causing the material to fall away. Her long, elegant neck was exposed to his roving eyes, and he saw that everything there was perfect as well. Was she as stunning everywhere else? He intended to find out.

After allowing his eyes one more once over of her body, he turned brusquely and addressed a guard.

"You," he said in his guttural, metallic voice. "Take her to med-bay, but keep her under. Bring her right back…" he trailed, searching the soldier's eyes.

The soldier stiffened and saluted sharply, feeling laid bare by Malak's penetrating gaze. "Yes, Lord Malak," he replied firmly.

"Good," Malak replied before shooting the guard a knowing and warning look that only offered pain as an alternative if his orders were not met. "And I **don't** want to hear about any detours with the Jedi…" his metallic voice growled. "She will remain intact… for now."

The soldier stiffened again as his thoughts had been read, and he quickly and guiltily bowed his head deferentially before leaving immediately, turning on his heel and professionally marching out of the watch chamber.

Lord Malak cast a single glance back at the unconscious Jedi on the ground before leaving the chamber, his cloak billowing in his wake as his tall, imposing form strode down the hallway from the high security wartime chambers. Malak glanced to the side as a stretcher and four medical technicians passed by to the Jedi-girl's cell.

Day 2

After eighteen hours of unconsciousness, Bastila felt her mind begin to rouse again. The pain was lessened but still apparent, and Bastila could actually think more clearly now, though her thoughts were still distant. _Where am I?_ She wondered, looking around the room she was in.

The room was small – only large enough to comfortably fit four people. The floors were of a strange matte black metal, though dull, rusted and stained, and the walls were exactly the same. An outline of a door stood against the wall opposite of Bastila, but it appeared to be completely sealed. Looking up, Bastila saw the vent to the room and series of metal chains; she shuddered at the sight of their cold, steely gaze.

Nothing moved in the space, not even the air. Everything was perfectly still and perfectly quiet; the only noise was the sound of her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. The sounds of her heartbeat were soon drowned out by the obnoxiously loud and almost painful noise of her over-cloth rustling as she tried to move again. Not a good idea. A blooming pain spread up Bastila's arm and she cried out again. _Is it broken?_ Testing her fingers, she found that she could feel the floor beneath them, so there was no nerve damage. But what had hurt so much? Looking down at her arm, she furrowed her brows, seeing large industrial stitching running from her forearm, through the crook of her elbow, and halfway up her bicep. She furrowed her brows, feeling a deep panic rising inside of her; that was a horrid injury, and she remembered nothing, not even who did the stitching. Now Bastila tested out the rest of her body, taking turns with her limbs and the pain while trying to ignore the fact that her unconscious body had been worked on and who knows what else in a medical lab.

Her toes were relatively undamaged, but she could tell that one of them had bled profusely; there was a sticky and old, crunchy feeling inside of her boot that screamed of dried and coagulated blood. The skin on her legs was bruised, cut and altogether grotesque, but the bones were in decent condition which was all that mattered to her now. Moving up, she felt that her hips were relatively functional, but burned painfully if she tried to move them at all.

Trying to arch her spine was like trying to shove a stake through your eye socket; the pain radiated from her back in a sharp, ripping jolt and a cry escaped from her lips again. It wasn't bone. Thank the Force it wasn't bone. The muscles in her back had seized and cramped, and she could tell that she had a few large cuts across her skin from the painful stretching sensation.

Grimacing, Bastila picked up her heavy, unresponsive arms and ran them up her front, making sure that everything was in place. Thankfully, everything seemed healthy, and though her body felt as if it would fall apart at any moment, no bones were broken. Taking a deep breath, Bastila mentally prepared herself for a task at hand. She was going to try and sit up. Her temper flared; it shouldn't be so hard just to rise half-way, and Bastila hated being such an invalid.

Inhaling deeply, Bastila put her arms behind her and used her stomach to slowly pull her body up. In a single wave of sharp pain, Bastila's stitches stretched too far, her head swam and throbbed, her back seized, and her backside bones dug into the ground. Clenching her teeth and letting out a pained groan of agony, she let her body fall back against the ground, tears of pain, frustration and anger sliding down her cheeks.

"_No…"_ she said to herself. _"No emotion exists, there is only the Force." _The meditation calmed her, and her eyes slid shut. However, she was acutely aware of the fact that she had no connection with the Force at all. Whenever she went to access that reserve within her soul, she was blocked, and it confused and frightened her greatly; she was utterly defenseless. Well, not entirely. She did have boots on, and a decent kick, but if attacked by another Force adept, she was completely vulnerable.

Feeling drained of energy, she let her blue-grey eyes slide shut and her body ease into a limp state against the floor, leaving her troubles for whenever she woke up again…

--

Lork Malak was watching the Jedi again, studying her movements, laughing at her pain. His deeply amused and cruel yellow eyes watched the Jedi as she cried out, and commended her for trying to sit up. After today, however, he was through simply watching; it was time for the little Jedi girl to know that she had no other choice than to submit to him and his will. Malak's right fist clenched and his fingers itched to touch the Jedi girl's perfect skin.

"_Bastila Shan,"_ he thought to himself, _"a fitting name, elegant, but you will fall. Soon enough, you will be on your knees before me, begging me for mercy and recognizing me as the Dark Lord, as _your _Lord!"_

He liked the sound of that, and mused that from the moment they were going to meet, she would be forced to call him "my Lord;" it was perfect.

On his way out of the chamber, he crunched his fist against a button on the wall, sending up a pulsing red security wall around the prisoner's cell.

Day 3

Bastila awoke with a pounding headache, her muscles aching and throbbing in pain from falling asleep on the cold floor for yet another night. However, other than the headache, she felt far better than she did before; it was an almost euphoric feeling. Strangely, it was difficult to think, and she blinked sluggishly as she tried to clear the fog that clouded her mind. Lifting up a hand, she rubbed her eyes a little, brows furrowed into a tight 'v' as she tried valiantly to think clearly.

Most importantly, she tried to remember why she was here, how she came to be here and what was going on before. It wasn't like her to forget things this easily, and as she looked around, the only viable explanation was that she was a prisoner…

Suddenly, Bastila twitched fully awake, her heart pounding in her chest and her fingers clenching the floor beneath her. _"Darth Malak…" _she thought with horror. _"I am the prisoner of Darth Malak!"_

As if on some supernatural cue, a door hissed open and a pair of heavy, booted footsteps strode easily into the chamber. Bastila felt fear like nothing she had ever known grip her body and mind, adrenalin coursing through her system. She wasn't even this afraid when facing Darth Revan on his flagship, but she was armed then, and fully sober.

The footsteps stopped feet from her, and a looming presence seemed to stifle and thicken the air, making it difficult to breathe. Bastila slowly turned her face to look up, a silhouette of a distorted face given to her eyes.

"Rise, Bastila Shan," a gruff, mechanical voice ordered her. The sound was grating to her ears and she grimaced, slowly trying to push herself up. Her body ached and the stitches in her arm were pulling uncomfortabley, but the alternative of disobeying was surely much more horrifying.

Slowly, the Jedi pushed her upper body up and leaned against a wall, her breathing labored as her efforts took far more energy than she thought. Her frame trembled and shook, the muscles famished from lack of nutrients.

"I… I cannot rise farther," she said, her voice barely a whisper; her throat was so very parched.

The Dark Lord watched, his eyes narrowing in sadistic amusement as the beautiful girl struggled to sit up, her wonderful limbs shaking with exhaustion. Looking over her body, he furrowed his brows, musing that all of the injuries needed to be healed and the stitches taken out of her arm. Kolto would do fine job of repairing and restoring her perfection.

"Whether you can or cannot is of no concern to me," he said, his mechanical voice sounding like a grunt. "However, you _will_. Disobeying yields punishment."

Bastila felt fear grip her, but her temper flared as well. Quite honestly, she had no idea how she had advanced as far as she did with the Jedi because she had a rather horrid temper which always presented itself at the worst possible moments – such as now.

"I suppose I will be on the receiving end of your punishments often enough then, because there are certain things that cannot be done, and my standing in this state is one of them," she retorted, her voice returning slightly and her cultured accent enunciating her words.

Malak's body stiffened as he was not used to such blatant, foolish rebellion, and it was a miracle of the Force that he did not choke the Jedi then and there. However, his position of master needed to be established to the Jedi – now.

Bastila felt her body roughly hauled up with the Force and slammed into the wall, the sheer forcefulness of it sending a throb of pain into her head. Helpless and trapped, she clenched and unclenched her fists, hating feeling this way. Looking up directly into the Dark Lord's eyes with contempt, she stiffened, seeing cold, hard and empty yellow eyes before her – the eyes of a murderer.

"You will obey me, Jedi!" he growled, closing in on her face. "I don't care what it takes to break you. I have no moral boundaries, so you will bend to my will." Darth Malak warned her, his eyes boring directly into her grey-blue ones.

His large, dark and shrouded frame filled Bastila's vision, and he looked down on her from great height and great strength. Bastila felt the same fear grip her again as well as resolution; she promised herself that she would not fall to this man. She would not let herself betray the Jedi, her friends, or Revan… No, she could not betray him - would not betray him. And so she hardened herself for this battle in which she would fight valiantly. She would fight for Revan, and for the galaxy, and if those were not reasons enough, then she would fight for herself. Even if the outcome of her battle meant death, she was prepared – for it is better to be one with the Force than a fallen, broken version of herself.

Taking a deep breath, Bastila felt the conviction swell within her heart. "Darth Malak, you will not break me," she said calmly, looking the man directly in the eyes with the same firm conviction. "I will not bend to your will, and I will not obey your desires. I will not fall, even if that means I must die."

Darth Malak would have sneered if he had the mouth to do so, and his eyes drilled into hers with a prideful, angry disbelief. "We will see, Jedi," he spat. "Soon enough you will be begging me for death, and I will not be merciful. You will suffer until you break." Chuckling in a sick amusement, the Dark Lord reached out a hand and fingered a strand of her rich brunette hair that had escaped from its clasp. "Death is not an option – ever. Even when I have broken your mind and gotten what I needed from you, you have your uses. I will keep you as a symbol for the Jedi; of what was once theirs and is now mine." The Dark Lord's evil grin showed through in his eyes. "I will use you as a tool to break my former master, and you will follow my instruction because you will realize that my way is right – that I am your master."

The Dark Lord dropped Bastila, letting her body crumple into a heap on the floor. Turning sharply, he began to stride swiftly for the door. Without looking back, Malak walked through it and locked it behind him, his rage growing ever more steadily. A medical technician approached him, saluting professionally. "Sir," he began cautiously. "You ordered a kolto treatment for Bastila Shan?" he asked, looking at Malak with respectful, fearful deference.

"Yes," he replied roughly. "You will find that she is awake. Take her to med-bay and do what you need, and keep her there for now."

"Yes, Lord Malak," the tech replied with a short bow at the waist before moving to Bastila's cell.

The Dark Lord watched for a moment before leaving for his bridge, bent on locating Revan and his silly, stupid little friends. He laughed out loud at how far his _Master_ had deposed, how weak he had become with his silly notions of love for the stubborn, preachy girl that was now in his possession. The Jedi amused him also with the fake identity they implanted in his mind, and he chuckled at how stupid his old Master looked with the lost expression on his face when Malak told him who he had been.

Funny that his old Master, the former Dark Lord of the Sith now found company with an old Republic Commander, a crazed Cathar woman, a teenaged twi-lek, and a Mandalorian. What a bunch of useless, misfit waste. The only valuable member was in his possession now, and he was not going to let her out of his grasp. Revan had lost; the girl was his now.

--

Bastila was in the middle of trying to right herself when she saw a Sith dressed in scrubs approach her; she glared at the man. The technician saw her glare and raised his hands in an effort of peace.

"I follow orders," he said. "If you would please come with me and I will lead you to med-bay."

"I would if I could move," she snapped back to the doctor who looked at her with a measure of sympathy.

"Would you like me to he– "

"No," Bastila replied quickly, starting to push her body up. She did not want the Sith man anywhere near her, doctor or not. Slowly, Bastila pushed herself up, using the wall as a balance. The muscles in her legs were shaking and threatening to give way, and her heart was pounding in her chest as she struggled to breathe. Finally, after many minutes of agonizing pain and effort, she stood against the wall, her head hung low as a dull throbbing ache began to pulse through her ears. Groaning, she took a deep breath, feeling a drunken cloud fog over her mind, and even though she blinked, little stars floated in her vision until she saw no more.

The technician caught Bastila as she collapsed and hauled her over his shoulder in a rescue form of carry. Furrowing his brows, he looked over at the girl's face, seeing how peaceful, innocent and untainted it was. Righting himself and scooting Bastila over on his back a little, he began to walk out of the cell and into a private sector of the Med-Bay.

Once in a large, heavily furnished operating room, the technician laid Bastila down on the bed and began to assemble all of the monitors, making sure they worked properly and that Bastila's biorhythmic readouts were all accurate. After everything was in working order, the technician chained Bastila's left wrist to the bed before pulling a sheet over her body and quickly striding out to inform the doctor of the Jedi's arrival.

On the Sith ship, even the medical staff functioned with a military hierarchy, the doctors being the high ranking commanders, accountable only to Darth Malak himself. The technician that had prepared Bastila bowed once in his presence.

"Sir, Lord Malak's Jedi prisoner is in operating room number nine with all monitors go," the technician said, head still bowed low.

The doctor turned slowly and looked down at the technician. "Good," he replied before dismissing the technician with a wave of his hand. Bastila's technician bowed again before turning on his heel and leaving, an uneasy feeling wrenching his gut. Something about the Jedi prisoner called to him and his compassion side. Seeing her perfect, tranquil and innocent face made him feel guilt over what this place and what these people would do to her and this purity she possessed.

Part of him remembered what it was like, so long ago when he had innocence like hers, except he studied, breathed and lived medicine unlike Bastila who devoted herself to the Jedi. The innocence had gotten him into a great amount of trouble and left him a broken man, susceptible to anything that brought vengeance and retribution – the Sith offered just that. So, he signed on staff as a medical technician, and now he was here, remembering better times.

Still, his mind wouldn't stop nagging him about the Jedi. He feared for what he knew they would do to her. The injuries Bastila had now were nothing compared to what they could do, and will do. Torturing captives was narrowed down into an art form involving doctors whose sole purpose was to keep the captive stable, not allowing them the release of death despite the fact that their parting would have naturally come far before.

Walking down the hall, he stopped in and checked on the still unconscious Jedi, giving her a short word of good fortune before walking out and trying not to think.

--

_Revan was enraged as he saw Carth and Bastila forced into a stasis, and he turned to give Darth Malak a cold stare, his fingers flexing over the hilt of his crimson blade. "Let her go," Revan spat at Malak as they circled each other, lightsabers hissing and at the ready. _

_Darth Malak laughed. "Fool," he said with obvious amusement. "My old master, what makes you think that I will simply bend to your will? Your words are wasted on me," he replied calmly. _

_Revan had just watched his life torn to ruins. He was Darth Revan, and suddenly everything made sense. All of the anger, rage and darkness that he felt just below the surface now had a reason, a purpose. Revan remembered who he had been and why – all of the memories of his past flooding in clearly. The people he murdered in cold blood, standing on the bridge of his ship, orchestrating the war, and the way he occupied his free time – all of the memories were now available to him. A sense of nostalgia swept over him, but he ignored it for the anger towards the Jedi, and now towards his old apprentice – the bastard betrayed him. _

"_You betrayed me, Malak," Revan said, his anger calming to a cold, calculating version of rage. _

"_It was you who taught me so, master," Darth Malak replied sarcastically. "It was your time to fall, and by my hand."_

"_Your hand?" Revan laughed. "You were too much of a coward to face me in person. Instead you chose to launch an attack against my ship, knowing that I would have ripped you apart if you would have challenged me directly." The former Sith Lord easily slid back into his own, true self, the memories and words coming so easily. _

_Darth Malak stiffened. "I could have easily beaten you, but I took my window of opportunity. Unfortunately you lived."_

_The former Sith Lord laughed, the sound chilling to even his own ears. "Easily beaten me…" he spat darkly. "You have no honor, Malak, or should I say Alec?" he said in a growl, his , naturally golden eyes flashing to the Sith Lord in front of him with malice. All the hatred from knowledge of knowing that this… prick was to fault for living a false life all this time came at him full force, washing out his vision in a haze of red._

_Darth Malak tensed, and growled, looking at his former master with contempt. "Ingenuity is what matters master; you were too soft - you and your concept of 'honor'," he said with a harsh laugh. "Now, you get a chance, old Master. See if you can beat me now!"_

_Revan tensed, looking at Bastila and giving her a pained, mistrusting look. "You lied to me," he said in a tone that held more disappointment and pain than one man could hold in. Finally, Revan turned to Malak, lightsaber in hand. _

_Everything happened within a split second. Revan felt the force of an oncoming speeder hit his chest, launching is body through and open doorway. His golden eyes were open and watched with horror and Carth came sailing through the door as well. Time seemed to slow down, and Revan willed his sluggish limbs to move faster as the door began to hiss shut. The last image burned itself in his memory of Bastila crossing blades with Darth Malak. _

"_Go, now!" she had yelled, apology in her blue-grey eyes – those beautiful blue-grey eyes. _

_The door was covered in blood from Revan's fists as he desperately tried to get through the doors. His lightsaber was broken, and he was yelling, screaming, though the only thing he could think about or even care to notice was the memory of Bastila's blue-grey eyes filled with such apology. Somewhere in his mind that was still sane, he could feel Carth trying to haul him away, but fuck him! He was going to save Bastila; he had to; he couldn't survive without her. _

_--_

_Bastila glared at Darth Malak, her fighting ability significantly less than her opponent's. Malak had been another Jedi hero that had gone to the side of the Republic, and Revan was the only man who had ever been able to win in a one on one match. Every hit that he landed against Bastila was executed with sheer force and power, using his height, strength and size against her almost petite form. _

"_He left you," Darth Malak growled at her with a grin. "You are all alone now, princess, so very alone."_

_Bastila could feel it, how alone she was. The only sounds were the hisses and crashes from their lightsabers pounding against each other. "He didn't leave me," she argued back, concentrating very hard, though quickly making mistakes from exhaustion.  
_

"_He isn't here, is he?" he asked, probing her for weaknesses. Darth Malak was simply humoring her with this duel; he could take her where she stood, and she would be helpless against him. _

"_I told him to go," she said. _

"_Actually, I threw him out," Darth Malak corrected. _

"_Yes, and closed the door, I saw that," she said, swallowing the fear that rose in her throat, trying so hard to focus. "If you had any honor at all, he would still be here, beating you," she said harshly, her accent sharp. _

_Darth Malak laughed and delivered a crushing blow to Bastila's lightsaber, cracking the staff in half. The energy of her two previously fused blades flickered and Bastila looked on in horror as it finally flickered out with a sharp snap. She was completely weaponless. Quickly, she backed up and away from Darth Malak, feeling vulnerable, open and frightened, so scared. "Pretty little Jedi," he taunted her, "I told you this was about ingenuity, not fairness or honor. There is nothing fair in this world," he growled, advancing on her swiftly. _

_Bastila backed up quickly, horrified but too proud to beg. "Leave me alone," she commanded, though her resolve was weak. _

"_That is the last thing that I am going to do with you," he growled before raising his right hand, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. Had the man had a jaw, he would have been grinning from ear to ear in a sadistic way. Finally, Bastila Shan was in his clutches, and she was stunning to look at. _

_A burst of Force lightning ignited from Malak's hand, hitting Bastila square in the chest. The Jedi cried out in sudden pain, and she threw her head back, every single nerve burning and pulsing with agony. Once released from the pain, she fell to her knees, groaning with teeth clenched in fury. _

_She hissed in a breath and dragged herself up off the floor, lifting her icy, silvery eyes to meet Malak's yellow ones. "Brute force will not break me, Malak," she said coolly, drawing in the Force around her in a protective shield. _

"_It will, child," he replied simply, flinging attacks through the Force at her that Bastila blocked. When the torrent stopped, Bastila looked up at Malak again, her body quickly growing more exhausted by the moment. _

_Backing away as Lord Malak advanced on her, Bastila tried to think of anything that she could do; she quickly realized that she was helpless; this was the end. _

_She stopped and held her ground, holding her chin high and rolling her shoulders back proudly. "I will not give you the satisfaction of making me beg for my life, Malak," she hissed. "Kill me now and be done with it!"_

_A wicked laughed echoed throughout the chamber. "Killing you was never my intention, dear Bastila," he said in a chuckle, striding up close to her, his crimson blade hissing at his side. "You will be begging, but instead of for your life, you will be pleading to me for death," he told her in his deep, mechanical voice. He reached out a gloved had and grasped her jaw in a firm grip, easily shutting down his weapon and clipping it to his side; his free hand wrapped around her belt, keeping her near him. "You have your uses, Bastila, and they are many…" he trailed, his yellow eyes roving over her once. _

_Bastila felt a chill crawl up her spine at her horrible miscalculation. She leaned back against her belt as he held her there, feeling her blood cool in her veins as his yellow eyes obviously looked at her form. She clenched a fist and took a deep breath, her silvery eyes staring into his with pride and disgust. "You will not have me, Darth Malak," she growled coolly, swiftly colliding her fist with his face. _

_The Dark Lord was furious, and he reeled sideways only to catch himself and ignite his weapon. "You will pay ten-fold for that foolish act, Bastila Shan!" he growled loudly, his yellow eyes blazing in rage. _

_Within a few moments, Bastila's body was on the ground, unconscious and incapacitated as the furious Dark Lord stood over her, shoulders moving with deep, rapid breaths. Her blood pooled beneath his boots in a crimson red trail. _

--

Bastila awoke to a slow, rhythmic beeping noise and she wrinkled her forehead a little groggily. With a confused expression, she opened her eyes and looked down at the different wires coming off of her arms and she looked around, immediately recognizing a medical care room.

The realization hit her again and her heart filled with dread, the once rhythmic beeping now faster and softer; she tried to get up but found that, to her dismay, her wrist was chained to the metal siding of the bed. She looked around frantically, trying to find a way out before hearing a cough and sharply, quickly looking up, eyes narrowing. "Touch me and I swear by the Force I will hurt you…" she snarled threateningly.

The man made a familiar gesture, raising his hands in the air; she furrowed her brows, knowing that this man must have brought her here from her cell. "Alright, but if I can't touch you then you will have old, gross kolto wraps…" he trailed, feeling his heart stop when her stunning grey eyes snapped to his own in a threatening way; she was like a caged animal, beautiful in distress and vulnerability.

Bastila listened and looked down at her arm. "Why are you healing me?" she asked.

The technician took that as her permission to let him switch out the wraps. "Because that is what Lord Malak ordered," he replied simply as he replaced her bandages, checking on the little white scar that ran from her bicep to her forearm.

"Why are you healing a scar?" she asked, confused now. Her body was healed, why were they worried about a scar?

"Lord Malak demands perfection; he wants you restored to your original appearance," the technician answered, trying not to find her little gestures and quirks endearing. Still, after treating this woman for a day now, he found it hard not to notice and appreciate her personality.

"W – " she began but was cut off.

The technician gave her a look. "You ask a lot of questions," he said observantly.

Bastila gave him a sour expression and shut up quickly, not saying another word; she turned her head and looked away. The technician took advantage of her looking away and held her jaw steady, making sure that there was no sign of a scar on her forehead.

He sighed and almost smiled to himself at her display, seeing that her skin was perfectly healed on her head. All that they were waiting on was her arm, and part of him begged that she would never heal, that she would never have to go back. The horrors that awaited her…

The man grimaced, the memories of screams echoing in his mind; there was no life in that room, no hope, nothing good. Only darkness and evil resided in that place, with the Dark Lord orchestrating the torture.

* * *

And so ends the first chapter. Let me know what you think, and please let me know of any grammatical or awkward phrases. Thank you, readers for your time.


	2. What is Real and What is Not

My deepest apologies, my readers, for taking so gosh darned long to type all of this. I hope you like it though, as I myself was very gleeful about the psychological warfare present in this chapter. Anyways, without further ado...

Day 4

The technician grimaced, walking in the room as Bastila was sleeping, the monitors hooked up to her arms beeping in a slow, peaceful rhythm. A needle was in his hand, a clear liquid inside the glass. Slowly, he walked up to Bastila, his hands shaking and heart beating so very hard in his chest. _Why?_

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, plunging the needle into the crook of her elbow and pushing.

Bastila's blue-grey eyes flashed open suddenly, and she jerked awake, fear in her eyes as she tried to leap from the hospital bed and attack the tech. The sedatives didn't take long to work, and she looked up at the technician helplessly, her body going limp and her eyes sliding shut despite her every attempt to fight off the drugs. If Bastila had been able to see the future, she would have known how precious these few moments of drug induced sleep were to her.

----

Bastila struggled angrily against the chains that held her to the wall, her body shaking in anger as her grey eyes watched Darth Malak pace back and forth.

"I do not fear you, nor what you can do to me, Malak!" she spat at him, her grey eyes absolutely blazing.

Malak laughed and turned to her, his yellow eyes hinting at amusement. "You lie through your teeth, Bastila Shan, and here I thought you were such a perfect little Jedi," he laughed mechanically.

She glared at Malak and hissed through her teeth. "I am not lieing," she growled.

"'There is no emotion, there is peace'," he taunted her, his strong arms folded across his chest as he paced. The Jedi had proven more difficult than most, her mental and emotional strength completely unnatural. He had thought that the Force-suppression collar would stifle her bond with his former master, but apparently he had been wrong. Damn him…

"You are in no place to correct me, Darth Malak," she said, though his comment had stuck her somewhere inside and forced her to quell her anger, replacing the rage with a cool, calm demeanor.

Darth Malak noticed her shift in mood, and he snorted a little. "Oh such a shame," he said. "You are quite attractive when you're angry." His yellow eyes bored knowingly into her own.

Bastila felt her heart sink, and she looked up into his eyes with a bitter defiance.

----

_Bastila watched the light catch in Revan's devious golden eyes, and she couldn't help but smile a little, despite the fact that she was bloody furious at the man. _

"_I am still mad at you," she told him seriously, crossing her arms only to turn and walk away from him. _

_Revan grinned and watched as she turned, admiring her tight little backside as her hips swung when walking. He silently crept up behind her like the assassin he was and suddenly wrapped his arms around her middle, his mouth at her ear. _

_Bastila gasped, startled as she felt his arms around her, violating her personal space as his breath washed over her ear. _

"_Wonderful," he growled. "You're attractive when you're angry."_

----

Bastila felt her courage and resolve disintegrate inside, and she wanted nothing more than to let the tears fall from her eyes and go home. She wanted to be safe, far from fear to a place where she could simply be and rest. It ached so much inside, and the hollow, empty need made a throbbing pain in her chest.

"_Revan…" _She thought; the pain and need inside of her carried her message millions of kilometers through the Force.

"The man left you," Darth Malak said, still pacing. His spine stiffened a little in jealousy at the Jedi's apparent adoration for his former master. The bastard had always gotten everything.

Day 8

Bastila was tired, so tired. Her eyes blinked blindly around the stone room, every moment agony for her screaming mind, telling her to sleep. Her breathing was erratic and staggered as her hands shook so hard her knuckles hit the metal table with resounding thuds. The gasping, breathy, frantic inhale of her lungs filled the silent room and her ears, but for the life of her, she couldn't calm. Tears flowed from her eyes, and her body rocked back and forth on it's own in a steady pattern. She looked around wildly, seeing nothing but fogginess.

"No! No no no no no no no ….."she moaned, croaked, gasping for breath soon after. She shook her head, her entire body convulsing and twitching. Her mind started to tire, and her eyes slid shut of their own accord, her body forcing her into sleep.

**Snap**.

Bastila cried out in agony as an electric current shocked her body, and she choked on her tears, sending her into a fresh wave of hysteria.

"No no… Can't… I can't… please, no… please…" she trailed, seeing nothing but fogginess still, hearing nothing but her own heart racing and her staggered, frantic breathing. Her stomach seized, and she gagged, coughing up nothing but her own spit. She had long ago rid her stomach of its contents.

She had no memories of how she started here, and she had no idea how long she had been awake. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours and hours into days in this torture, her mind getting nothing but two seconds of sleep at a time before a current jolted her body awake, joints turning to flames.

Finally, she blinked enough to clear her eyes of the tears and saw the outlined figure of Darth Malak pacing beside her, and her heart filled with rage. She pulled against her restraints, her body shaking and weak.

"**Damn you!**" she screamed at him, her voice wavering at the point of insanity. "**Damn you, Malak!**" She sank back into tears, crying out again from the pain of another shock. Her body shuddered again, and she dissolved to weeping, her head hanging down low. "Damn you…" she sobbed.

A shock ripped through her body again, and she hyperventilated. Nothing could get her out of the rhythm, and her brain was slowly losing oxygen until even the shocking could not keep her awake. Her small, thin frame went slack against her restraints, her knees sinking to the floor as her weight rested on her wrists high above her head.

--

Bastila awoke, her head foggy, and the sounds around her seemed almost ethereal. Blinking, her eyes snapped open, and across from her, she saw a man. Her breath caught in her chest as she met his eyes, those horrible yellow, cruel eyes.

But… how was that possible? His jaw was completely healed, intact, and he had a full head of thick, black hair.

Bastila blinked again, but still the apparition stayed, looking back at her with those cold, calculating eyes of an animal.

The apparition shifted his hands to rotate a ring around one of his large fingers, and he averted his gaze briefly, shifting his weight in the chair; he had a very handsome face, and it was clear how he had become a hero of the Republic. The way he moved seemed so young and human, and Bastila would have thought this just a strange dream if not for those eyes.

"You… You can't be real…" she trailed, her voice quiet and echoing. "This is impossible. I must be dreaming."

The man grinned at her, showing a perfectly cold smile, full of straight, white teeth. "Are you, Bastila?" he spoke in a normal voice; his tone deep but human – not that horrid fake vocal box.

"I… I… don't… yes, I am sure…" she trailed. "You can't… be real…"

The apparition stood slowly, walking over to her; she looked up and blinked standing to relieve the tension off her wrists and shoulders. The Malak-who-isn't-Malak looked at her coldly, those yellow eyes boring into her own. "Are you sure?"

Bastila held her breath as she looked back, and nodded once in an affirmative to his question.

Without hesitation, the apparition-Malak swung the back of his hand at her face, colliding with her perfect, porcelain skin.

Bastila cried out at the shock of the pain, and she spit out the blood that had pooled behind her lips from the blow. Slowly, fear in her eyes, she turned and looked up at Malak in disbelief.

"Are you so sure, Bastila?" he taunted, his yellow eyes glittering with sadistic malice while a wicked grin curved his lips.

"This can't be… You can't be…" she trailed in utter confusion. "I have to be dreaming; this isn't real." Bastila shut her eyes tightly and tensed her shoulders. "Not real, not real, not real, not real," she chanted hopelessly to herself in a whisper.

A loud, booming laugh filled the otherwise perfectly white and empty room. "I am real, Bastila."

--

Bastila blinked again, and she immediately cried out in agony as a stronger force ripped through her body, setting her nerves aflame. Her teeth grit together, and she let her head fall back in agony, tears streaming from her face. Did she just dream? Had to be a dream…

Her tongue explored the inside of her mouth, and she felt a fresh, bloody laceration. She felt her heart fill with fear and dread and her limbs go still. How? How was that possible?

--

She blinked again and suddenly she was back in the same white room, except it was considerably darker, and Malak looked in a formidable mood. He paced back and forth furiously, growling and muttering curses to himself. Finally, he turned and shot her a pained, angry and bitter expression, the weight of the world in his yellow eyes.

"Do you see what that wretch has done to me, Bastila!" he roared, his voice booming and shaking the walls. "Do you see what that _bastard _has done!" he spat furiously. He crossed the distance between them in long, easy strides, and one of his large hands curled around her throat, squeezing.

Bastila watched him in shock, not believing that she was seeing this again; he looked so angry, so hurt, and as she listened; she knew it was Revan that he was speaking of. When he grasped her throat, she flinched and recoiled from his touch, the feeling cold and wet, horrible. She gasped and tensed her fists, backing completely up against the wall she was chained to.

"Look at me, Bastila!" he snarled in a command, his yellow eyes boring into her grey ones.

She obeyed, hesitantly, looking into his eyes with fear.

When she obeyed, the apparition softened, and his hand stroked her cheek almost affectionately. "Look at me, Bastila…" he said again, his voice almost gentle. "Do you see what I have become? Do you see what Revan stole from me?" he questioned, his hand wandering up into her hair, playing with it absently.

Bastila felt her breath catch in her chest, anticipating his hand to slap her, as his other hand was already squeezing her throat, depriving her of breath. She gasped for air, writhing beneath his grip, but he seemed not to notice; he still played with her hair and her ear, her skin and her chin. "I… I see nothing… that… you haven't… stolen… from yourself…" she croaked, gasping for breath still.

The apparition seemed not to notice her words, and he hummed thoughtfully, running his thumb over her silky lips. "I can see now, why Revan shows so much interest in you…" he murmured deeply. "So beautiful…" he said. "So stubborn and strong willed; you are difficult to break, my sweet…" he said quietly, his hand still at her throat violently.

Bastila felt her vision blacking out, and white stars erupted across he eyes before he finally let go of her throat, and she gasped for air, her body sinking against her restraints. He was still in front of her, however, and she felt his cold hand against her hip.

"Are you not saddened? Does it not hurt you, what Revan has done to me? In anger, he stole my jaw from me," he said quietly, his lips moving into her hair. "I am disfigured now, a freak, merely a shadow of the man I was…"

Bastila was haunted by his words, her mind unclear and muddled from lack of sleep and disjointed thoughts.

"I am powerful, beyond all measure, only because I took back from Revan what he most desired. All equal retribution. Is it not fair that you should stand at my side as my mistress and apprentice?" he asked softly, his voice swaying. "Is it not fair to ask for fairness? To ask for you to devote yourself to me? Revan… he took from me, but I can take from him, Bastila. You can help me make this right, make this fair…" he murmured into her ear, his thumb rubbing in circles around her hip.

Bastila blinked and furrowed her brows, a tingling sensation travelling up her spine from his circling thumb and the way his breath moved across her skin. His words, didn't they make sense? The Jedi stood for fairness. Revan would want fairness. This was a great injustice against Malak; how could Revan have done such a thing?

_NO! _her mind screamed at her. _You know, Revan! You love him! He would never do such a thing anymore; he is a changed man._

The apparition shifted and ran his hand up her side slowly. "Is he so changed, Bastila?" he spoke with agony. "You still saw the glimpses of his former life in his eyes. The cruelty and the malice. Bastila, he was so much worse than I have become… Does he not still deserve the consequences of his actions? Does his change absolve him? Is a murderer still a murderer and a thief still a thief?" he asked her, his voice laced with the Force.

Bastila was tired, so very tired, and the lulling softness of his voice was slowly enchanting her. She furrowed her brows. Of course Revan deserved punishment, deserved pain for the pain he dealt to Malak.

_Bastila! You know not what you say! Revan loves you; it is Malak who is the fiend! Wake up! WAKE UP! _

Her inner mind screamed, and Bastila's eyes snapped awake, freeing her from Malak's Force-trance, and she stiffened, recoiling from his touch once more. "No, Lord Malak, you figment of my mind!" she growled with conviction. "Do not trick me with this deceit! What he did is past, and you deserved any amount of pain you were given for the horrors you are unleashing across the galaxy now!"

The apparition's rage exploded, and Malak snarled in her face, his yellow eyes glowing wickedly. He backhanded her again, hard, and again, Bastila spit up blood, her grey eyes cold with fire. "You bitch!" he snarled. "Tell me what Revan did to you that is worth your _precious _affections! Tell me what he said to make you, you stubborn, preachy Jedi crumble to your knees before _him_ that… that… _bastard_ of a man! And don't you dare tell me any bullshit about him being a changed man because you and I both that that is completely false!" Malak's voice echoed, boomed and rattled the chains in the room, the walls, the floor even. It was like a great thunder, powerful, frightening, and it made Bastila's blood run cold.

Despite her fear, Bastila raised her head, stubbornly, looking directly into Malak's yellow eyes. "He admitted that what he did was wrong and set about making things right," she said firmly.

Malak laughed. "Before he knew he was the former Dark Lord of the Sith, Bastila," he growled, still furious, raging. "Take a look into him now, into that precious little bond you share and tell me what you feel?"

Bastila felt for a brief moment the Force suppression collar around her neck loosen in her mind, and she pushed outward to find Revan and all she found was rage and hatred, a darkness that she had only felt once before when on the bridge of his ship on that fateful day. "No…" Bastila trailed. "He couldn't have… wouldn't have gone back…"

She couldn't believe it. Everything she had known about Revan, learned to trust in, adore was gone? It was like the man she had known and loved had ceased to exist. A tear rolled down her cheek. "I won't give up on him so easily," she said, both to Malak and herself. "I will not fall, for him…"

Malak laughed again, most amused and highly frustrated. "You are the most delusional, stupid and ridiculous woman I have ever met!" he snarled. "Thank the Force you're beautiful, because you certainly do not have the brains to go with that body."

Bastila glared up at Malak, a sneer on her face. "And this is coming from the man who had to beat Revan but attacking his ship in the middle of a battle because he couldn't think of any other way to best him."

That slight burned Malak to his core and he snarled, whirling on Bastila and grabbing her by the throat. "If those words, or any words near those come out of those lips one more time…" he snarled, yellow eyes flashing with cruelty, "I will stitch them together myself…"

Bastila continued to stare up into Malak's eyes, feeling both nauseated and horrified by his threat. "You are a sick man, Malak."

Malak grinned, as much as he could with a metal jaw. "Lord Malak," he corrected, "or 'Master'."

"Neither sounds worthy of you," she replied snappily.

"You really are a stubborn bitch," he grunted.

"Thank you," she replied, stubbornly.

"It was not a compliment," he said.

She remained silent, feeling the burning need to sleep overcome her again before being jolted awake, and she growled loudly in frustration. "I want to sleep…" she whined, feeling her mind start to fog over again.

"Hhmm…" he thought aloud. "Small steps, Bastila," he said. "Tell me, what is my name, and I will let you sleep."

"Malak," she snapped.

"Wrong answer, though I will give you one more chance."

Bastila knew what he wanted, and she knew she should not give him the satisfaction. But, her body needed sleep. She could feel herself growing ill, knew she had a fever, and there was absolutely no way that she could overcome anymore mind battles with the Dark Lord in a worse state than she was in.

"Master," she murmured quietly, feeling her mind groan in depression, sickening by that one word.

"Please, speak up, my dear," he taunted, grinning sickly in his yellow eyes.

"Master," she repeated, loudly. She felt ill.

"Good girl," he said, turned off the shocking system and pulling off her shackles with the Force. He watched in amusement, aroused as her limp body fell to the steel floor, already asleep. "I know how to break you now, Bastila…" he growled, laughing as he left her room.

----

Revan was on the ship heading to Korriban, seething with anger as he locked himself in his room. So, he was Darth Revan and that woman he thought he could trust, thought he loved hadn't even told him – though she had known all along. No wonder she was so frigid to him the first few weeks; she was probably scared out of her precious little mind.

Dammit! There went his thoughts again, reverting back to the way the Dark Lord in him spoke as he tried to heal the gap between two personalities. He had mentally trashed most of what the Jedi had implanted him with, but there were still annoying pieces that remained – like that bastard thing of a 'conscience' that he had killed already once before, and a 'moral compass'. Pah.

However, despite the complete mental breakdown and reboot, the little slice of his heart that Bastila had stolen from him was still with her, even now as she was in Dark Malak's hands. He wanted her back, badly, now that he knew who he was, is, and will continue to be.

Malak did not deserve the title that he had gotten by chance – that coward. And he, Revan, was going to take it back from his former apprentice. He would already have broken Bastila to the dark side, and so when Revan finally found his way to the Star Forge, he would just have to kill Darth Malak, convert Bastila's loyalty from Malak to himself, and assume his title once again.

He would have to remain in the shadows about this though, and act perfectly normal so that this motley, sickly crew would not gain notice of his change; however, that stupid, Force adept Jolee would notice. Damn him.

He would find some way to hide it, even if it meant cloaking his entire mind.

The feelings through his bond with Bastila were strong, and he was tired for the past few days, eyes darkening and bruising from lack of sleep, feeling little courses of shocks in his body that were only shadows of what she must be feeling. He smiled. Poor girl. Part of him still loved her, but that love was tainted now. Wasn't it?

A feeling of adoration from Bastila washed over him and he closed his eyes, grimacing at the purity of the feeling, the wholeness, how complete it was. That woman loved him, and it both pained him and soothed him to know that and feel it.

Still, it was not enough. He had decided his fate, and had chosen Bastila's for her. She would either join him, or he would let her go. At least he couldn't kill her; he knew he couldn't do that. He owed his life to her, and even Darth Revan held his debts in honor. Part of him hoped that she would join him, however, as the prospect of continuing lonliness made him ache inside though he knew he didn't deserve any measure of affection.

There was still much to sort through and much to decide. Nothing was definitive, and it would remain that way for some time.

Revan fell asleep that night, feeling disgusted with himself and with an odd feeling of a sore, bruised throat. He felt for Bastila.


	3. Hallucinations

Sorry for the long wait you guys. Had to study-up on my torture methods. Heh.

Hope you all like it.

* * *

Bastila felt so heavy, dull and exhausted as she came to from a deep, long sleep. She felt as if she had been in the ocean for so long that standing on land made her feel at least a hundred pounds heavier. With a slight yawn, she sat up, surprised to find that she was alone, unchained and… rested. However, this made her very wary. What was Malak up to?

The Sith Lord was watching her from his observation deck, thinking it amusing how few days had passed. Princess was already wondering if weeks had gone by, and he could tell from the way she was looking around that this was one of her fewer lucid moments. Fucking with her head pleased him so greatly, but already her lucidity was growing too strong for his comfort; she needed to be kept disoriented. Completely coherent and alive, her spirit would be too strong to break without doing irreparable damage.

Darth Malak swiftly descended the steps to her cell and entered a special key to unlock the door, entering the room swiftly. "The Princess awakens," he growled at her, looking down at where she was still sitting on the floor.

Bastila glanced behind her as she heard the door opening, her heart chilling with fear. She held her chin up high however, and she looked up at Darth Malak as he spoke to her. "Yes, and why I am well rested confuses me," she replied. "What angle are you trying to implement now, Malak?"

The Sith Lord boiled in anger, shooting a booted foot out in a swift kick. The large, rubber tread colliding firmly with her side, sending her sliding across the floor. "What have I told you call me?" he growled brutally, his tone crude and sharp through his metallic voice box. "Have we not been through this step? Must I go back again and chain you to the wall? Not allowing you to sleep?"

Bastila hissed in pain as he kicked her, the force sending her body careening into the wall, but she sat up quickly, glaring at him. "I refuse to call you what I called you before in a moment of weakness," she said stiffly.

Malak chuckled a little before lunging at her, one of his large, scarred hands curling around her slender neck, hauling her to her feet before shoving her roughly against a wall. "Oh, come now, Doll," he purred at her a little, fury evident in his eyes. "You do realize that I am winning this war just by taking you out of the equation? I do not need you, Bastila. Right now? You are my amusement…" he trailed, his eyes showing his sadistic grin.

Bastila gasped as he curled his hand around her neck, and she fought, her slender, pale hands gripping his wrist while she kicked out at him. As she listened to him, her heart fell. They were losing… Revan. Force, Revan was losing. "How do you expect me to react to this news?" she replied quietly.

The Dark Lord shrugged a little. "Exactly how you are now," he replied, still holding her by her throat.

In a moment of vindictive anger, Bastila swung her foot up between his legs sharply, fully intent on crippling him for life, wanting him to never be able to reproduce.

Malak caught on to this and caught her leg with his free hand, glaring at her. The sheer size of his hand was able to cover most of her thigh. He gripped there and gave her a look. "Did the Jedi teach you to be that cruel?" he asked.

She glared at him a little. "I learned to be resourceful," she replied, face twisted in anger.

"A useful skill," he complimented, sliding his hand up her thigh a little.

If looks could kill, the sheer murderous rage in her eyes would have slayed the Sith Lord where he stood and skewered him on an open spit to boot. "Do not touch me," she growled, hints of true fear in her eyes again.

The Dark Lord chuckled a little, sliding his hands up even more. "Learn your place, prisoner…" he growled in return, the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric in the inside of her hip. "Tell me who I am," he said.

Bastila gritted her teeth, feeling disgusted by the little tendrils of heat creeping up into her pelvis, and she shifted uncomfortably. "No… do not do this…" she trailed again. "Please…"

Malak raised a brow and looked at her. "Please?" he returned. "How polite, but I am disinclined. Unless you do what you know you should…" he trailed, moving his hand beneath her shirt, fingering the hem of her pants.

Bastila closed her eyes tightly, her heart starting to race. "Master," she finally said. "Master, please stop."

The Sith Lord chuckled and removed his hand, stepped back. "Very good, Shan."

Bastila let out a relieved breath. That was not… too terrible.

Darth Malak glanced at her a little more; finding her to be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he had been privy to quite a few. "Will you use your gift for me and become my apprentice?" he asked.

Bastila gave him an incredulous look. "No?" she replied.

He nodded, walking over to her and giving her another swift kick – this time to the jaw. Her body spun around and she rolled, now on her stomach as blood leaked from between her lips. The Dark Lord watch as she spit the red liquid onto the floor, wiping it from her face, and the glare he received from those pale blue eyes aroused him. "And now?"

Bastila felt pain explode across her face and jaw, then blood start pouring through her mouth and between her teeth. She spit it out, feeling her soul start in anger at his words. After turning her face up and glaring at him, she stood up, trembling. "No, Master… I will not serve you," she said, blood trailing down her chin.

The Dark Lord acknowledged her words ad ignored them. "You will," he said putting a hand out then rattling her body with Force lightning.

As the lightning struck her body, she felt the will to remain conscious ever leaving her grasp, and she passed out into a little, crumpled heap at his feet, dead to the world.

The Dark Lord heard a siren in his ear-piece and sharply looked up. They were under attack. He abandoned her there and ran out of her cell after locking it, running up to the bridge of his ship where a few Republic vessels had just exited hyper speed right in front of them.

---

As the Dark Lord positioned battle ships, restationed troops and waged war, a medical technician walked unnoticed through the ship. The damaged security cameras caught nothing as he snuck to the door of the Jedi prisoner's cell, pulling a small, rare skeleton key from his pocket. He worked it into the lock, carefully taking his time before entering the Dark Lord's pass code. The door opened, and he saw the Jedi laying on the floor. Her face looked terrible; it was bruised, purple and swollen, and she still had dried blood all in her teeth and on her lips.

He walked closer and knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. "Bastila Shan…" he called out urgently. "Ms. Shan!" he barked in a hushed whisper.

Bastila felt something shaking her shoulder, and she growled, rolling over only when the voice started to get much clearer. What was going on? She opened her eyes, brows furrowed in confusion when she saw a familiar medical technician. "Hm?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

The technician was grateful when she woke up, and he gently helped her sit up. "You can escape…" he trailed.

Bastila's heart stopped. Escape? He was giving her a way out. Almost instantly, she was standing on her feet, and she looked up at him, curious and wary. "Why are you doing this for me?"

The medical tech looked up at her a little guiltily. "I have made some mistakes in my life… and I hope to repay them by helping you escape and gain your freedom. You are young – you do not belong here – not with him." He shifted uncomfortably. "No matter, we are wasting time."

Bastila could hear the faint sound of explosions ripping through the ship, and she and the technician raced for the door. She grabbed some robes and put them on, pulling a dark hood over her head to obscure her bruised and beaten face.

The entire ship was in an uproar. Soldiers were jogging from place to place; people were screaming and shouting orders; cannon blasts were colliding with the depleted hull of the ship; the walls were rattling. Bastila ran by completely unnoticed.

Together she and the technician ran, having a hard time getting up and down hatches and lifts with the sheer mass of people moving about, and she felt her heart pound in her chest as the attacks started dying down. People would again start noticing odd behavior (such as a running medical technician and a person in Dark Jedi robes). Her side was starting to ache, and she limped along as fast as possible, gritting her teeth and damaged jaw to mask the pain.

"I would not take off the collar until you are far away!" The technician shouted. "Get one of the people from your Order to do it for you – that way, Darth Malak won't be able to track you."

Bastila nodded, and she stopped when she finally arrived at a hangar bay filled with various ships. How she wanted to set fire to the place and escape, but it people like the technician still lived on this ship… then she could not destroy it in good conscience. Now, she turned to him, looking at him calmly and gratefully with her bruised and blood-stained face.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I… I am in your debt, and I hope that you do not suffer for this. Do you have a name?"

The technician grimaced, looking oddly, guiltily agitated. "Yes. Galen Gindo," he replied.

Bastila nodded and gave him an openly grateful look. "Galen…" she said softly. "Thank y-"

**ZZAAAAAPPPP!!!**

A scream erupted from Bastila's throat and her eyes flew open.

Her wrists and ankles were chained to the wall and she looked up through hazy eyes, seeing Lord Malak pacing back and forth in front of her. It… no… this was days ago. Bastila stared in confusion and disbelief, feeling the exhaustion in her body, how tired her mind was.

This could not be. She was going to escape! She was so close to escaping… why?

A moan of agony escaped from her lips and she fell forward against her chains, sobbing, crying. Her resolve shattered at that moment. Nothing was hopeful. Everything was black. She was not going to escape; it had all been a lie! She must have been here for weeks now. No one was coming to help her. She was delusional.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she felt anger and passion and rage take over her exhausted, hallucinating mind.

"FUCK YOU, MALAK!" she yelled, blue eyes flashing with absolute hatred and disgust. "Fuck, you!"

She groaned against her chains again, feeling hopeless and empty, unaware of the Force powers the Dark Lord was using against her.

"Revan…" she sobbed softly. "Revan, I am sorry… I should never have lied to you. I should have told you the truth. Roth…"

Malak chuckled and he looked down at his hopeless Jedi, pacing leisurely. He assessed her perfect tears – the way they rolled down her cheeks on her perfect face. He smirked when he saw her give into her temper and allow herself to hate him. The first stage of Bastila's breaking was finally complete. Now, she was passionate, hateful, vengeful and hopeless – all he had to do was turn it against Revan and make her fully his apprentice.

"Why are you apologizing to a man who is not here and obviously does not care?" he asked – mechanical voice gruff and harsh on her sensitive ears.

"He cares… he has to care…" she sobbed, on her knees before the Dark Lord. "We… he told me…"

"That what… he cares about you? Who cared about you, Bastila?" he asked. "Was it Revan? No." He paused and looked down at her. "The Jedi's mind imprint loved you, Bastila, but that is all it was. He was programmed to love you."

Bastila listened to the Dark Lord and felt her heart sink. She knew… she knew that had to be true. When she had parted with him, and he had been so angry with her… All of those hints of affection and warmth in his eyes had been sucked away and she didn't know that new man. Cautiously, she opened the bond between them.

All that she felt was evil, cunning, wickedness and darkness. His aura moved slowly, deceitfully in her mind, but she thought she felt him falter just for a moment. The Jedi furrowed her brows and considered this, searching deeper through their bond. Suddenly, an angry wall erupted in her path, causing her mind great pain, and she withdrew, swallowing. Then there was nothing but coldness. She knew the truth. Darth Malak was right. Revan cared nothing for her; only his programmed mind had loved her, and Force… did that hurt so deeply.

Bastila swallowed and wept softly on the floor, no longer angry – just… broken. She took a deep breath and looked up at Malak, glaring. "Just because he does not love me, does not mean that I will follow you," she whispered harshly, feeling vulnerable and weak. But, for the life of her, she could not summon the strength to put up her Jedi front and be emotionless.

Malak smirked as much as he could and nodded. "Bastila Shan, I would expect nothing less," he said. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Bastila suffered another night with no sleep, constantly being shocked awake – each one driving her closer to withdrawing inside of herself to go completely catatonic.

She truly had no concept of time. Now, it felt like she had been trapped in here a month. Nine days had passed.

---

When she woke up that morning, she was unchained and in the corner of a cell. She was still dressed in her dirty, grimy Jedi robes, and she was cold. Her body and mind were still exhausted, but surprisingly, nothing was keeping her awake. When she closed her eyes, the familiar jolt of electricity did not run through her body.

Brows furrowed, she stood and walked around the new cell made entirely of metal. It seemed seamless. Where was the door?

Her fingertips ran over the wall and she looked down at the two remaining staples in her arm. She continued along the wall, finding no door before looking up at the ceiling. It too was seamless.

Despite her curiosity, depression overwhelmed her, and she sighed, sliding down to the floor once again.

---

At first she was grateful for the solitude and the peace, but every moment seemed to drag on endlessly. Did everyone forget about her? Was this what happened what Dark Malak gave up on his prisoners?

She ran the length of the cell again, fingers scraping over the walls, searching for anything – anything at all.

Still nothing.

---

Now it seemed like days, and Bastila was growing anxious and claustrophobic. Every time she opened her eyes, the walls seemed to crash down around her and she would hyperventilate again.

She was lonely and so hungry. So thirsty. She needed water desperately.

---

Bastila pounded her fist against the walls, panicking. "Help!" she screamed hoarsely. "Please! I need water… I need something, anything! Don't leave me here! Please don't leave me here!"

Part of her felt ashamed that she had resorted to begging, but most of her just did not care. She slid down against the wall again, trying to control her breathing as she cried again.

---

No one was coming. Not a sound except her own heartbeat existed in this horrible, cold vacuum. She lay against the wall, starting at the floor, blinking. Bastila did not move. All her efforts ended in futility. Part of her accepted that she would die down here of dehydration. Already the humiliation of having to relieve herself in a corner was hurting her badly. She had shed her boots, taken off her armored shoulder piece and rested only in her beige suit and tapestry overdress.

She continued to stare at the wall until everything faded out and she retreated far into her mind. Bastila dreamt of her father. How proud he would have been of her and how sad he would be to see her in this state.

---

She almost did not believe it when she heard something open, and she barely cracked her eyes open. It was a person. Bastila managed to push herself up – her body boney and malnourished. "Please," she said quietly. "I… water."

The man just started at her. He was dressed in black and wore no weapons, but still… he seemed excited about something.

Bastila furrowed her brows and waited, wondering if he was going to help her, or maybe just talk with her. She was… so relieved that she was not alone.

When he started coming towards her, she sighed and stepped forward, but then fear gripped her when she saw that he was coming at her throat.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she snapped, trying to slap his hands away. She was so thirsty.

The man grunted and simply shoved her against the wall, one hand firmly over her neck. He was breathing hard, staring her deeply in the eyes.

He was a Sith soldier, obviously. His eyes were rich brown, hair dark, body strong and muscular. The man's expression was cold and filled with unadulterated, wicked, raw lust.

Bastila gave him a warning look, though she felt her heart fall. Anything… anything but this. It… was all she had left. Everything else – even her mind – had been violated. Not this… please, not her body.

---

Revan was again on his ship, now being transported to another world while Bastila was still in that bastard's hands. Now it was a matter of ownership. Sure, his apprentice had somehow miraculously managed to get his hands on the one woman he had thought he loved, but Bastila belonged to him. Her heart, her mind, her soul and definitely her body. Eventually, he would get her back.

He had gotten so tired of feeling her overwhelming depression lately that he simply closed his mind to their bond. What she was feeling… he loathed admitting that it hurt him, but it did.

Force, did he still want to hate her. Part of him still did. How could you lie to someone, love him and know that you are living a lie? Still… Whether he liked it or not, that stubborn, fiery woman had worked her way under his skin and into his life, and he did not mind.

Parts of him longed to run his fingers through her rich, full hair again, letting her silky tresses flow over his fingers like liquid. He desired to wrap his arms around that narrow waist and inhale that constant scent that had grown to be a calming smell. Longed to see her give him that exasperated look every time he made some lewd comment about her tight ass.

Dammit! He missed her. Hated her. Missed her. He wanted her back. He wanted to see that innocence once more and maybe remind himself that there are still people in this world who are whole.

Not that she would be after this. That… pissed him off. If anyone should be torturing her, it should be him. He knew how she ticked, and he knew exactly what to do to get her to fall to her knees before him and call him master, and now Malak was fucking it all up.

That bastard fucked everything up.

The former Dark Lord of the Sith leaned back in his chair, rubbing his scruffy face and absently fingering a scar. He let out a sigh before growling and ripping himself from his chair. Enough pining. It was time to get this fucking mission done so he could kill his former apprentice and make Bastila his again.

While he was walking, he let the bond slip open again, and what he felt…

Revan yelled in rage, eyes burning with fury and hatred, and he vowed that no one – absolutely no one – who touched her would die easily. They would suffer. He would skin them alive and watch them bleed.

The former Dark Lord shook with power, violence and rage, the Force gathering around him in a flurry of power and static.


	4. Humiliation

Again, it has been way too long my friends. I have been put on a research team for my Chemistry degree, and all of my free time has been taken for running samples through the IR and UV-VIS. Poodoo. Anyway. This is shorter than usual, but it is something. I wanted to reward you wonderful, sexy people.

* * *

Tears had long since stopped falling from her bloodshot and dry eyes, and she sat on the floor of the seamless cage, knees tucked close to her chest. Her heart was empty and pulsed dully in its cavity, and with every inhale, the gaping hole seemed to stretch wider. Ever moment of life seemed ever more dreadful. Part of her was angry at how much damage that man had caused her, but the other part of her knew that what he took from her was all she had left that was untainted and undamaged. Now, she was just another body in the war. She was just another Jedi. Just another woman too weak to defend herself. A statistic.

Oh she had tried everything she knew to remove herself from that situation, but fact of the matter was that a nearly two hundred pound soldier could easily over power a one hundred pound woman in close quarters. She had been starved, refused water and human contact, and her strength had long since been sapped from her muscles. Her clothes hung in tatters, and her ribs were easily seen beneath unhealthy and stretched skin. Bastila thanked the Force that her cage was no reflective because the sight of her must be terrible.

Spirited though she was, and stubborn, a weight sat on her heart that she could not shake. Depression was what the medics called this condition, but Bastila had always disregarded the condition before. Now, she realized what a fool she had been. This was awful. Her limbs were numb and useless. Her mind was constantly dwelling on the hopelessness that filled her entire future.

No Jedi team or Republic spies had been able to penetrate this far into Darth Malak's army to rescue even men more important than herself. She was doomed to this life, alone. In this moment, she hated Revan. She hated him more than she thought herself capable. Yes, she had lied to him about his life, but the consequences of the truth were terrifying and against her direct orders. She had apologized in their parting moment. And now? He had abandoned her to face this torture alone. How foolish could she be to trust in love? The Masters had always warned her about her compassionate heart, and they were absolutely right. Absolutely right, but also weak.

The Masters were incapable of rescuing anyone; they were crippled by their own code. In her torture she had learned one very important lesson – anger give you strength. Even at her weakest, her anger allowed her another sliver of defiance, one more attempt to defend herself, and one more action of violence. Anger kept her heart from shattering into a million pieces when that solider left her there to bleed. Anger soothed her mind when she wanted nothing more than to give up entirely.

Darth Malak was right. The Sith were right. Anger and passion gave great strength, and strength was what she needed. Though she was still sane enough to defy the Dark Lord, she knew she would have to change her tactics. So she sat in her cage, calm and cool and allowed all of the hatred and anger she felt toward Malak, the soldier, the Sith, the Jedi, and even Revan to bathe her in power. She sat this way for what she thought were days. The light never changed in this room.

Another soldier came in, and this time, she was ready. She would not beg. She would not plead. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear. Bastila stood proudly and curled her elegant fingers into tight fists, blue-grey eyes turning into pools of ice. The blood that stained her face gave her a war paint of frightening contrast, and she cocked her head to the side in a gesture of insanity.

"Did your friend tell you of his conquest?" she asked, her voice beautiful and dangerous. "Did he describe to you my pain and anguish? Tell you that he made me his?"

The soldier, slightly caught off guard, raised a dark brow. "His stories were told for hours in the dining hall," he replied in a deep voice. "Does this embarrass you?" He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked slightly.

Bastila felt the anger surge in her again, and she leaned against the wall in a nonchalant manner, folding her arms over her stomach. "I will admit that it does, a little," she replied. "Though I am angered by it more." She eyed him carefully. He was shorter than the last man, perhaps just shy of six feet tall. He was younger, too. His face still had traces of child's fat that clung to his cheeks, and he was obviously not as battle hardened as his colleagues. The soldier's ego also did not match any physical prowess that Bastila could see, and he was unarmed.

The soldier was very unsure of how to handle her now. She was actually acting a little frightening. She was too calm. She was nothing of what his superior had told about earlier. "I would be worried if raping you did not anger you," he replied with a short laugh, moving forward confidently.

Bastila smirked and raised a finger, halting his progress. "Though you deserve no such kindness from me, I will give you a warning," she spoke clearly. "Come any closer, and I will kill you." A shadow of a memory whispered that the Jedi do not kill prisoners, but the thought was so easy to brush aside. She wanted this boy dead. She wanted them to have to come and drag his lifeless body from her cage.

The soldier laughed. "Kill me? Is that a promise?" he asked, thinking that he would be superior. All he needed to do was incapacitate and emaciated, weak woman. How hard could that possibly be? He gave her a smirk before lunging for her, thinking he would grab her around the waist and push her down beneath him.

Anger gave her focus, and she easily sidestepped his lunge, sending him sprawling to the ground. With a brutal, angry cry, she slammed the heel of her boot down on the lower part of his back. If he did not urinate blood in the morning, she would not have done her job very well. His cry of pain gave her pleasure, and she thought for a moment how it must have felt like to be Malak. Interesting. The soldier tried to stand, but she easily kicked him in the head, sending him sprawling to the side.

In a moment, he was on his feet again and furious. "Bold bitch," he commented, wiping blood from his lips. "You will pay for that." Angrily, he lunged at her again, though carefully this time. He managed to get one of his stronger arms around her waist, and he pulled her to him.

Bastila smirked again as he pulled her close, not fighting back for a moment. She would allow him to think that he was winning, the fool. Then, she drew one of her legs slightly upward, the skin on her thigh exposed through a gash her in clothing. In a split second her leg was back down, the heel of her boot firmly planted in his instep. With another cry of anger, she spun, hitting him in the face. She immediately followed this by using the heel of her palm to break his nose from underneath.

He cried out in pain again and stumbled backward, but Bastila was relentless. Her eyes held no mercy or compassion as he had none for her. She was angry, and she allowed it to shower her in cool calm. She was on him in an instant, kicking him firmly in the chest. He fell backward. He tried to get up and she spun around, using the force from her hips to kick him in the head. Anger was her only drive. Bastila put the heel of her boot on his throat, watching as he coughed up blood like he had done so many times before.

She stared down as his eyes looked up at her pleadingly. Nothing stirred in her heart. "Good night," she whispered before kicking his face in. By the time she was done, blood was spattered over her entire body, and the soldier did not have much of a head left. Bastila stared at the point where he came in and backed into a corner, settling. She would do this again, and again.

The body stayed there, and she was not bothered. Eventually, exhaustion from her brief adrenalin rush coursed through her veins, and she closed her eyes, seemingly falling asleep. But her mind and her ears were very much awake. She heard a strange, creaking metallic sound and cracked an eye open as a few men entered her small space to retrieve the body, but she was ready. Bastila launched her body through the doorway before they had a moment to react, and she sprinted down the hall. Being out in the open was so… liberating. How could a ship be so vast? What would the sky look like to her now?

An alarm sounded to ring, but the noise hardly touched her ears. She could hear nothing but the beat of her own heart and the taste of freedom. Bastila ran through a closing door and slowed to a walk as she was faced with many open hallways. She took one and found herself in the medical ward. Her brows were furrowed as she saw a bed she had been laying in months ago, and she found it so hard to remember what she had been thinking. The Bastila who had come here was so naïve and pitiful.

The medic, Galen, looked up and was entirely shocked to see the Jedi girl standing in front of him. She was in terrible condition. Her skin, stretched too thin, was covered in blood in various states of drying. Dark, bruising circles rested under her eyes. Her once, thick and beautiful hair was matted and falling out from malnourishment. And her eyes… they were gone. She had broken just like the others, but it had taken her almost three whole weeks. Her gaze was piercing, blaming.

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit him, and he pulled her inside, surprised at how hard she slapped him. "Dammit, woman, I am trying to help you!" he hissed in a whisper, pulling her into one of the privacy rooms.

Bastila followed the medic and narrowed her eyes, distrusting. "Why?" she asked. Was that a dream or was that real? Did he try and help her escape? She couldn't know.

Galen frowned. "Because this… what you have become… it isn't you," he said, peering suspiciously out the door.

Bastila snorted. "I was turned into this monster and I hate it," she responded, determining that those were the last open words she would speak. "Move, I am leaving." She moved past him and opened the door.

"No, wait!" he grunted, trying to catch her arm, but she shrugged him away. He watched helplessly as she began to run down the hallway.

Bastila turned a corner and ran headlong into a battledroid. She now understand what it meant by running into a brick wall. She tumbled over and slowly picked herself back up, rubbing the quickly forming bruises. When she looked up, she was staring down the barrel of a blaster, and she frowned.

"Halt!" it growled. "Jedi prisoner, you are under arrest!"

The Jedi rolled her eyes angrily. "I've been under arrest for months you worthless piece of scrap metal!" she screamed angrily in its face.

More battledroids surrounded her, and she groaned, leaning down on her knees to catch her breath. The heavy booted steps of Dark Malak approached, but she no longer felt fear. She stood up tall and stared him boldly in his yellow eyes. She would not give up her freedom again, even if it meant she had to die. The change in her was visibly obvious. "I am not going back," she told him firmly.

Dark Malak had never been so entirely pleased before as he was right now. She looked… terrible, but that look in his eyes was something he could work with. Of course this entire ordeal had been part of his plan, though her escape did take him by surprise. Though he longed to feel her skin against his own, he knew he could not be the one to cause her so much harm and have her still trust him. So, he sent in his soldiers to do the job. And they did it well.

"I would never dream of punishing such bravery, Bastila," he said. "In fact, if you will follow me to the medbay, we can talk while you are fixed up." They walked for the first time side by side to the medbay, and she did not realize how far she had run until now.

Minutes later, she was in that same bed, and the wires came out of her arms in torrents. She was being pumped full of fluids and monitored carefully. Surgery was needed to repair most of the damage that had been caused, but she was mercifully under anesthesia for most of it. The talk with Lord Malak had been brief. He had requested her presence as soon as she was well again. The process of becoming "well" took a disturbingly long time.

After four days, she stood up and looked in the mirror. Training and discipline would return her figure to its former glory, but until then, the slender form would have to do. Her hair was clean and her deft fingers easily put it into a braid. The padawan braid had long since fallen out, and she did not give much of a damn about it anymore. Punishment by being berating seemed laughable now. Bastila slid on simple robes and stepped into boots, and she walked out of the medbay without an escort or chains. She felt… almost good. Almost, but she was suppressing quite a bit of psychological shit.

Bastila walked around the ship for a few moments, allowing herself to think before meeting Darth Malak in his private chambers for dinner. This felt a little premature, she thought. She had not agreed to become his apprentice, but she was not complaining about this freedom. The young woman sat down at the large table, having ignored the Dark Lord's presence for the moment. He was static and therefore not an immediate threat. She thought like this now, in terms of potential pain. Food was served by the droids, and she ate politely in silence.

"Will you serve me as my apprentice now?" Darth Malak asked casually.

Bastila paused in eating for a moment and leaned back into her chair, scrutinizing his expression. "Am I correct in guessing that my new freedom will be rescinded of I were to decline?" she asked curiously.

"I am afraid you would be correct," he replied. "Though I would regret having to do so."

"Naturally," Bastila grunted sarcastically.

"Your choice?" he asked.

"I am not allowed to finish dinner?" she questioned.

"I would prefer a swift answer."

"I will be your apprentice."

"You – will?" he asked, not expecting this to be so easy.

Bastila looked up and smirked at him darkly. "Only if the Sith rule of killing your Master still applies," she said with a wicked tone.

Darth Malak laughed. "Indeed it does," he replied. "Welcome, my apprentice."

"And a good day to you too, Master. Do not get too comfortable."

* * *

Don't hate me. Just see what's coming. :) Love on me with some reviews? Or hate on me... either way.


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